


The surly Tank and the cheeky racers

by Steena



Series: Maintaining peace [7]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Drinking, Drunken sex, NSFW, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tarn has habits (what's new), Tarn needed that, Threesome, a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10052972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steena/pseuds/Steena
Summary: Tarn's trying to cope with the new way of life and the peace. He came here with habits and is dealing with his issues. Dealing poorly. His team mates tries to get him to relax but he winds up in berth with two horny little race cars. But maybe that's just what he needed?Shameless smut, exploring a pairing so rare it's non-existing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I see Bay-verse Sideswipe when I think of this, hence the silver colored mech.

Adapting to the new world order was a drive through the pit and a half. Going from being the most loyal Decepticon, the one to enforce the following of the cause, to watching the factions wither, proud warriors fall to behavior befitting fleshling teenagers and even his _team mates_ slowly descending into the same madness was nothing short of horrifying.

He himself had been a spearhead, a weapon, the crown jewel in Lord Megatron's arsenal, the very _essence_ of the faction. Now he was... hung over. Again.

Tarn landed on earth with several addictions. His addiction to poetry was still intact but the Nuke, he'd given up almost straight away. Not because he wanted to, needed a fresh start or anything of the sort. No, he just couldn't get more Nuke. It was out of necessity.

So he upped the use of transformation. He went from twenty times a day to over fifty. It was glorious, wonderful, soothing, sensual... _He was burning through his t-cog quicker than his self repair could restore it._ Nothing new there, but now he couldn't get more of those either.

Helex dragged him to the medbay after his transformation sequence glitched, making him seize up for minutes halfway through. The Autobot medic was on call; wrenches were thrown, snark, threats and expletives were yelled at him and he would've blown his fuses and killed the glitch if the Autobot hadn't been so slagging _terrifying_. 

The Hatchet, and who in their right mind would allow a bot with a nickname like that to become the slagging _CMO?!,_ proceeded to lecture him about a maximum of one transformation back and forth a day for the foreseeable future to allow his t-cog to heal, upon which Tarn protested wildly, like the junkie he was.

"You will end up stuck if you keep doing this. Let's just hope you aren't mid transformation when you do. Or maybe you'll be stuck in alt mode. Then it will proceed to drain you of energy as your frame tries to repair the damage, leaving you unable to do much at all. Imagine that: a tank, forever doomed to not even be able to get energy enough for firing one round with his cannons. The most _impotent_ Cybertronian in history." Ratchet snarled. "But go ahead, do as you wish. Slag if _I_ care."

Helex choked on the energon he was drinking. Ratchet inadvertently hit too close to home. The smelter was the only one who knew about Tarn's inability to... _to get his spike pressurized._ He'd been the last mech Tarn had tried to interface with, and it had come to an abrupt and embarrassing halt, the Tank's Nuke-habit rendering him useless in berth. He'd threatened Helex with slow and painful death to keep that a secret and Helex weren't taking any chances.

Tarn twitched at the comment. Knock Out, who was off shift but hanging out in the medbay for reasons unknown to the DJD leader (ex-DJD?) didn't miss their startled reactions and obviously put two and two together. A nasty grin stretched his lipplates.

"I won't transform and I will be back for a check up in a week." Tarn mumbled and fled the scene. 

 

*****

 

And that's how he ended up at one of the parties. His fellow DJD members, the blasted _traitors_ that had adapted and thrived in this new and strange world, managed to tug him along to keep him from losing his processor with abstinence. He was three days (OK, two and a half) clean from transforming and he was a twitchy mess.

So he reluctantly followed them and commandeered a couch, staring everybot even _thinking_ about joining him down until they thought better of it.

Tesaurus brought him a cube of clear liquid with a straw to allow him to keep his mask on. The drink tasted dreadful. Tesaurus left him to his brooding, eager to mingle with the mix of Decepticons and Autobots instead of hanging around his surly leader.

Tarn watched and busied himself with noting every act of treason he could see. Just in case Lord Megatron came to his senses and stopped this ridiculousness.

It was an hour into the party before he started noticing the change in behavior of the mechs present. Inhibitions seemed lowered. Tesaurus was making out with Brawl in a corner. Some bots had lost an obscene amount of plating. Everybot was louder. But the most interesting thing was that they seemed more relaxed, something Tarn craved by now.

He looked down at his cube, almost untouched because of the taste. But maybe it was worth a try? He sipped it and grimaced. Still hideous. Putting two more straws in the cube, he could take a bigger gulp swallowing quickly. It would have to do. Downing the cube quickly, Tarn shivered at the taste, the liquid burning his intake and tank.

The Tank felt his frame go numb, a very welcome feeling, and his processor seemed fuzzy and still oddly clear in a contradicting way. He relaxed into the couch and grabbed a bottle somebot had left on the table, refilling his cube and slowly allowed himself to sink into oblivion.

 

*****

 

Tarn was hooked instantly, craving the alcohol as much as he had ever needed Nuke and transformation. It numbed those needs and made him feel so good, it was worth the hangovers.

He quickly found all the moonshiners, spreading his purchases to keep from getting caught, because somwhere in his processor, he knew that somebot would force him to give it up. It was bad enough that he had to borrow money from his fellow Decepticons to finance his habit.

Oh, he'd looked into work, as he was without both job and purpose to serve the cause, but _oh,_ had _that_  been a depressing endeavor. He was a _tank_. There wasn't any work for him, the humans still didn't trust the Decepticons enough to hire him, _and would he really sink so low as to be employed by the tiny organics?_ and what, besides fighting, could a war machine do?

So, he numbed himself with alcohol as often as he could. The result was waking up with a hangover almost every day.

That's why, at first boot, he didn't think anything of it. His processor ached and he wished to be offline. Or at least that he could recharge through the entire day. Nothing new there.

More sensors came online and the temperature data seemed off. Too hot. He onlined his optics, ready for the assault of the bright morning sun through his window, but instead it was comfortably dark in the room, light filtering through the cracks around the curtain.

It was disturbing. Tarn didn't _have_  any curtains. He stared for long moments, trying to get his slagged CPU to process it. _How the frag...?! Where was he?_

Then he realized that the temperature was a result of a mech recharging next to him, an arm slung across his ventral plating, helm on Tarn's chest plates. He stared, unable to comprehend. The silver colored mech had very distinct fins on his helm, he should be able to recognize him even if he couldn't see his facep....

Motion on his other side had him snapping his helm around. Too fast. He winced at the crushing pain in his helm and focused his optics on the black and red blur next to him.

_Another mech._ Curled with his back against Tarn's side. This one he knew. _Wildrider, one of the components of Menasor._  

He turned back to the first mech, finally recognizing him. Sideswipe. The _Autobot._  Tarn let out a whine. _How did he get here? And why?_

A horrifying thought hit him like a sledgehammer to the helm. _What if...?_

Slowly, out of fear for what he'd find and not wanting to wake the still snoozing mechs, he reached between his legs -

Tarn's interface panel was missing. The secondary cover over his uncooperative spike was still closed and he sighed a relieved vent, but it hitched when his digits trailed further.

The valve cover was _not_  closed. He prodded with a digit, rising dread in his spark. Soft, slick folds. The entrance to his valve was too relaxed and pliable. _Stretched_. He whined again and slipped a digit inside. The mesh was a little sore and the channel much too wet. He looked down and whimpered when he saw the dried spatter of blue liquid on his thighs and lower ventral plating.  _Transfluid._  

_He, the leader of the DJD, Megatron's most loyal servant, the enforcer of loyalty to Glorious Leader, had been fragged by an Autobot._

Or a Decepticon who obviously didn't hesitate to get into berth with an Autobot. _A traitor!_ Maybe even both of them.

The only thing that kept his murderous rage in check was the fact that both mechs were recharging like sparklings next to him. They wouldn't _dare_ do that if they had defiled his frame against his will, had taken what he had kept untouched for the day that Mighty Lord Megatron would decide to grace his berth. _Would they?_

That left a _very_ uncomfortable possibility; that he had _consented_ to a hedonistic orgy of interfacing with _two_ mechs at the same time. But why would he do that? Why had he fallen to let them use his valve? Why had he fragged his deal....

He sucked in a mortified vent. _Sideswipe was one of his alcohol-dealers._  Had he been out of money last night? Tarn couldn't remember. _Had he paid with his frame?_ Like a... Like a _buymech_! He warbled in horror.

They would keep asking for this kind of payment and threaten tell _everybot_ if he refused and all he could do was give in to the blackmail and he'd be on his back _forever_. He briefly thought about offlining himself. He had no purpose and this new low of his functioning was just...

He was abruptly torn from the downward spiral when a servo trailed lower on his ventral plating, over his own servo and a digit slipped into his valve beside his own digit, forgotten there when he got wrapped up in his processor. Tarn went rigid

Sideswipe lifted his helm and flashed him a cheeky grin, optics still dim with recharge.

"Eager, are you? Starting without us..."

Tarn was about to viciously object but it ended up a startled mewl when the invading digit found a spot inside him that made his hips jerk. His processor reeled for a second before he found his bearings again.

"Stop. What is going on here? Why am I...Why am I _in berth_ with the two of you?" He managed to at least sound a little angry.

The Autobot's face fell and he pulled his digit out.

"You don't remember?"

Wildrider lifted his helm with a panic stricken look on his face, inching backwards from the dangerous Tank.

"No. Isn't it against Autobot code to drink a mech under the table and take pleasure from his frame?"

Sideswipe looked incredulous and it made Tarn hesitate. Shouldn't the 'Bot be scared now that he was found out?

"Come on, 'Sides. Let's get out of here before he goes on an offlining spree." Wildrider hissed.

Tarn relished in the Decepticon traitors fear. At least one of his abusers knew his place. It wouldn't save him, but anyway...

"I _didn't_." Sideswipe answered flatly, ignoring the black and red mech trying to coax him away.

"Then why is my valve sore and sticky? And I have no memory files of how my preciously spared array got debauched by _the rank_ _and_ _file_  of this horrible dustball!" He roared.

"First of all; do you _really_ think I'm dumb enough to recharge here if I had taken advantage of you? I wouldn't. I would have fragged you six ways from Sunday and left you somewhere you would never find out who did it."

Tarn stayed quiet, because no matter how much he hated to admit it, even to himself, it did make sense.

"Second: I didn't think you were _that_ wasted. You seemed coherent enough."

"Yes, because I _usually_ allow all and sundry to coerce me into taking it in my valve, my valve that I had _saved_ for Lord Megatron for vorns." Tarn scoffed. It was preposterous.

"You need to wake up and smell the coffee, sweetspark. Lord Megatron is so busy taking Prime's spike in every way possible, he hasn't taken anybot else to berth since they started fragging." Sideswipe smirked. "Besides, it wasn't any coercion involved. You were happy enough to _ask_ for a good spiking. Or eight." He purred.

"Liar! Lord Megatron would _never_ have the Prime in any other way than to force submission." He snarled.

"Sorry to break it to you, and please don't shoot the messenger here, but everybot already knows. And they're fine with it. It's _you_ who are living in denial." Sideswipe said, voice soft.

Tarn sat up and covered his mask with big servos. _It couldn't be true._  Had he really given up on his celibacy, admittedly partially forced by his Unicron damned spike but still partially chosen out of devotion for his Glorious Leader? He had to stop drinking, if this was the result.

"You really don't remember anything?" Wildrider asked warily.

"Nothing." Tarn said through clenched denta.

"I guess we better give you something to remember then." Sideswipe said cheekily, tackling the unprepared Tank.

Tarn flailed when his gyro sensors went haywire by the hard shove in the chest plates and he landed heavily on his back on the berth

He was about to snarl at the uncouth Autobot but it turned into an undignified, high-pitched squeak when the glitch ducked between his legs and _licked_  a firm line with his flattened glossa through Tarn's slit, ending with flicking his anterior node.

Heat coursed through his array and his legs twitched when Sideswipe sucked at his node and hummed.

Wildrider's digits sneaked into his tracks, hitting sensitive wires with disturbing precision, glossa lapping at the seams in his chest plates. Tarn tensed, not certain he wanted this to continue but they were making it incredibly hard to process clearly.

"Relax. Sideswipe is _very_ good at what he does." Wildrider crooned.

Tarn was inclined to agree. The things the Autobot was doing to his array was distracting to say the least. Heat and charge was coursing through his entire frame and he felt a trickle in his valve.

Deft digits slipped into him, once again easily finding nodes and sensitive spots that turned him into a writhing mess.

It was most unexpected, the way the race cars worked his frame, licking, sucking, flicking and tweaking and somewhere in his lustdriven haze, he acknowledged that this was _nothing_ like his previous experiences with interfacing.

Sideswipe must've added another digit, because a delicious stretch made his valve clench and quiver in a way it hadn't even done that time when he submitted to Megatron.

Tarn had remembered it fondly, had thought of it many times when he self serviced or made Helex or Tesaurus submit to him, but the more the smaller racers worked him, the more the veils of idealism fell away.

He had willingly bent over Glorious Leader's desk, opening his panel to reveal his valve, damp from anticipation, and had relished the painful stretch more out of devotion than physical pleasure when Megatron slid into him. His memory files provided him with the sensation, how his leader had rutted into him like a mechanimal, not at all hesitant to take the offered valve and use it as he saw fit. He had spilled his transfluid deep in Tarn's valve, pooling to stretch him even more uncomfortably, and the loyal servant was left without any pleasure except for the feeling of having shown his submission and being accepted for it.

Tarn himself had interfaced in the same way with the Smelter and the Grinder, had taken his pleasure and given none in return. That's why he had been so very reluctant to offer his valve to anybot.

But there, on the berth in what must be an Autobot's quarters, his reluctance shattered. The digits inside him and the wicked glossa working his node had him falling over the edge into a hard overload and he thrashed on the berth simply because he didn't know what he should do with his frame and the sensations they were bombarding him with.

Wildrider didn't let up on his assault on the DJD leader's treads and neck, sucking and nipping, but the Autobot moved, hiking Tarn's legs up. The Tank let his knees fall to the side, a small but stubborn part of his processor protesting at his wanton behavior, submitting to an Autobot, but his frame wanting it nonetheless.

Sideswipe didn't plunge in like Tarn expected. Instead, he rubbed the tip of his spike against Tarn's node, sensitive from the overload. Tarn bucked his hips and the tip of the spike slipped through his slick folds, barely pushing into him.

"So eager." Sideswipe snickered, but just kept teasing Tarn's array.

The Tank tried to grind down, to get that spike inside him, because his valve clenched around nothing and it was almost a burning pain, but the Autobot pulled away.

"Stop teasing." Tarn growled, used to get what he wanted.

Sideswipe smirked and flicked Tarn's node with his digit, defying him just because he could. He swirled a digit just inside the rim of the valve, hitting sensors that had the Decepticon's heavy engine roaring.

He ground down on the digit and Sideswipe allowed him. _One_ digit. Not nearly enough and Tarn let out a frustrated whine.

"For Unicron's sake, just _frag_ me already!" He growled and wiggled his hips, trying to create friction.

Sideswipe's smirk turned lecherous and he curled his digit, causing Tarn to arch his back at the sudden pleasure.

"As you wish. I just wanted to make sure you _consented._ " He purred.

Tarn mewled embarrassingly when the racer slowly slid into his ridiculously slick valve. The stretch was exquisite. Not nearly enough to hurt but enough to stimulate every oversensitive node. His lubricant that was dripping by now, in a way he just an hour ago would have considered a sign that a mech was a filthy pleasurebot. Now it provided a delicious slide.

It only took a few flicks of his node to send him over the edge again. Tarn's frame stiffened and his back struts arched off the berth before being sent into a quick reboot.

The racer took the opportunity to roll them over, the Decepticon still lax and pliant. Tarn was still rebooting, slow to respond to outer stimuli, and it took him several seconds to process the frame pressing against his back as he now straddled the Autobot.

"No, what... Wait!" He squeaked when he felt Wildrider's spike nudging where his folds were stretched by Sideswipe's spike.

"Sshh, _relax._  We'll take good care of you. You liked this yesterday. We wouldn't _dream_ of hurting you." Wildrider whispered.

Tarn actually did as he was told, curious and wanting. Somehow, he found himself trusting them. He was a big mech and should be able to handle them both. _He'd taken Lord Megatron without prep for crying out loud._

The racers started to work together, a seamless rhythm of small thrusts that had Tarn suspecting they had done this many times before. His fans were roaring on full blast as every little movement stretched his valve a little more, filled him up further and his charge ramped up until it crackled over his circuits.

Sideswipe reached between them and rubbed his node, Tarn's vocalizer abruptly humming feedback laced with his ability and both the other mechs groaned.

Tarn startled and muted his vocalizer, for the first time in a very, very long time afraid of his own power.

"Do that again! Feels _amazing._ " Sideswipe groaned, bucking up to hilt his spike in Tarn's filled valve.

Tarn stared at the Autobot, still not certain, charge decreasing with the previous scare.

"That's how this all started. I wanted to know if you could talk a mech into overload. We wound up doing this before we could try that, but when you lost control of your vocalizer, we got answer enough. So, _please_ , don't _stop_!"

The heady feeling of having an Autobot _begging_  made up his processor and Tarn smirked wickedly behind his mask.

"What, you mean like _this_?" His voice lowered to a deep croon, his ability seeping into the sultry purr.

"Oh, Primus, _yesss_!" Sideswipe moaned.

Tarn heard Wildrider groan and he had never felt more powerful than in this vulnerable situation.

"What do you want to hear, then? Or is it inconsequential?" He purred.

Both the other mechs started to move simultaneously, thrusts hard and seemingly beyond their control when he ramped their charge with just smooth words. The stretch and slide over every single node inside his valve had Tarn quivering with delightful tension.

"Anything, tell us how we feel inside you. Tell us a sparkling story for all I care, just don't stop!" Wildrider ground out, digits steadying him with a denting grip on Tarn's hips.

Tarn gasped, hard pressed to stay coherent enough to keep talking. They seemed to be everywhere, touching him in just the right way, and he was quickly approaching the edge he had no intention to keep away from.

"You want to hear how well you stretch me? How your digits rub me in all the right ways." His vocalizer glitched into that hum again with a particularly well aimed thrust by Wildrider.

"The way you use those silver glossas of yours, and I'm not talking about your eloquence."

Sideswipe started rubbing Tarn's node again and the Tank's processor power flew out the window. He allowed his vocalizer to hum uncontrolled, not able to form words anymore.

The speedsters set a furious pace, working in perfect sync and he could feel their mutual charge crackling over their plating, no longer able to tell where one of them started and the next ended. The edge he wanted to throw himself over with abandon came rushing towards them at breakneck speed until they all teetered on the edge, that blissful moment when everything went quiet and still in strained suspense before they all toppled over with fritzing optics and vocalizers and crashed into hard reboots.

 

*****

 

"Isn't that... Tarn?" Optimus squinted, an annoying yet endearing trait he'd picked up from the humans.

Megatron followed the Prime's optics and looked at the mech slowly walking the other way down the hall.

"Yes it is." He looked closer and scowled. "Is he limping?"

"Looks like it." Optimus said.

Megatron turned to the Autobot, clearly annoyed.

"Optimus, if your _Autobots_  have somehow hurt him or taken advantage of him, I swear to Primus I'll..."

"No need to get your panties in a bunch." Optimus interrupted, holding up a placating servo. 

Megatron stared, thrown off by the weird expression.

"That's Sideswipe's room he just left. He may not always be a model Autobot, but he would never force anyone to do anything they don't want to. He don't need to, he's very... _talented_." Optimus leered. "And he's incredibly persuasive when he wants to be. Besides, don't you think that's exactly what Tarn of all mechs needed?"

"Well he _do_ look very relaxed..." Megatron conceded.

They watched the Tank hobble off, not even noticing the faction leaders.

 

 


End file.
